How To Kill Leon Vance
by MissJayne
Summary: A collection of oneshots in which Leon Vance dies. Pretty much self explanatory.
1. Intro

How To Kill Leon Vance

Intro

I'm slowly starting to warm to Leon Vance. Being in complete denial over Jenny's death though, this does not sit well with me. So, in an attempt to make myself feel better, and possibly give TPTB a few ideas, I've come up with the idea for a new series.

In each of these oneshots, both short and longer, I will kill Leon Vance. I will happily take any suggestions that anyone might have on how to do this, seeing as the plot bunnies are busy working on several other ideas at the same time and my life is already full to bursting with uni, stress and ficage.

For once, I have not completed this series. I intend to keep it going until Vance is no longer on the show, although this may change depending on how life goes. Hoping, I will be able to update at least once a week, but again, this will depend.

If there are any spoilers for any episodes, I will note this in the relevant place. I will also try to remember to note any potential ships.

Final note: there will be no Lily in this. I felt she did a great job in NonExistent Numbers of getting rid of him. However, if the plot bunnies do come up with a particularly evil idea that only she can carry out, I may make an exception.


	2. Heart Attack

_And here's something to get us started. Something rather short. Warning: Jibbs ahead._

Heart Attack

Vance rubbed his head as he crossed the catwalk. SecNav had not been happy about the recent conclusion of a case involving Gibbs' team, leaving him to smooth over the ruffled feathers. Gibbs, of course, was nowhere to be seen during this, probably aware that he would be the sacrificial lamb.

Just before the meeting, he had ordered Cynthia to locate Gibbs and make sure he was in his office when he returned. At least he would be able to vent his current frustration on his errant agent now. A shouting match would improve his mood and make the day better. Perhaps Gibbs would even think twice before doing something so stupid again.

How exactly did someone shoot a Senator by accident anyway? Gibbs had undoubtedly known exactly who he had shot, and still proceeded regardless. The man had a rebellious streak in him that needed to be curbed, before he did something unforgivable.

He rubbed his head again as he passed into Cynthia's domain. The desk was empty, with no clue as to where its usual occupant might be. And there was a strange banging coming from his own office…

The pain in his head forgotten, he moved rapidly towards the door. Whoever was making that dreadful racket was going to pay for it. Seeing as Gibbs was supposed to be in there, it was not much of a leap for him to assume that Gibbs had something to do with this. And it was unlikely that his agent was putting up shelves at this hour, given their history.

He slammed the door open and opened his mouth to issue a rebuke –

But his words stuck in his throat. Gibbs was definitely in there, and so was someone else. Someone else who was supposed to be dead.

Gibbs had Jenny Shepard pressed up against the wall, their bodies closer than it should be possible. Their lips were fused together and it was obvious they had not noticed his intrusion.

Vance felt a tightening in his chest, as though a vice had gripped his heart. How had this happened? The redhead was supposed to have died in that diner! The pain in his chest continued to grow, deeper and deeper. He felt himself fall to the floor, his legs no longer able to support him. All the while, neither of the lovers noticed him, so wrapped up in each other.

His eyelids felt heavy and he let them droop closed. He felt his body hit the floor, and then nothing.


	3. Death By Christmas Tree

_A/N 1: Spoilers for Silent Night. Should be another one coming up soon... And thanks for all the ideas! I am working on them._

_A/N 2: I asked a scientist (called my Dad), and he claims that if the temperature and the pressure inside the eyeballs was high enough, in theory the eyeballs could explode. This will hopefully make more sense later…_

Idea Two: Death By Christmas Tree

Vance smiled as the elevator doors opened. The ride up with Ziva had been silent, but a friendly silence, not an uncomfortable one. The present he clutched in his hand to give to less privileged children made him feel good about himself. Christmas was a time of year for happiness, and for sharing that happiness with everyone else.

He stepped into the squad room, the Israeli following him. One of the toys in the already large collection caught his eye and he picked it up, marveling that it was still being produced today.

"I used to love this game as a kid," he informed Ziva.

Ziva looked thrilled. "Aw, me too!" she exclaimed. "My mother preferred I play with dolls, but my favorite was GI Joe."

Vance chuckled. He could well believe that. Ziva was certainly not a typical woman. He watched as she placed her gift at the back of the collection, smiling softly. "David," he began. "Thank you." He put the game he was holding back down.

"My pleasure," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "I enjoy shopping, especially when it's not my money."

He laughed again, the spirit of the season affecting him. It was nice to be getting along with someone on Gibbs' team other than McGee. Gibbs was known for inspiring blind loyalty in his team, which made it difficult for him to interact with the rest of the team. At least the frost was beginning to thaw.

As Ziva walked towards her desk, he paused at the Christmas tree. The lights were flickering! He was fairly sure they weren't supposed to be doing that. He looked around it carefully. Where was the fault most likely to be?

He could see two wires at the bottom of the tree, and they did not appear to be connected properly. It was the best place to start, he felt. He placed his hands on top of them and pushed them together.

Instantly, a sharp pain passed through his arm. He was being electrocuted! His eyes boggled and the pain became worse. He was dimly aware of someone shouting, then his eyes exploded and the pain faded away…


	4. Brake Failure

_Another spoiler for Silent Night. What can I say? I was watching it and all I could think of was how to get rid of him. And the muse gets very demanding sometimes..._

Idea Three: Brake Failure

Vance had never been so angry in his life. Well, he had, and last time it had involved Agent Gibbs as well. He was the only agent who could willingly disobey orders and annoy everyone possible without batting an eye. And now he had done it again. He had ended up soothing Metro when they had called to complain, and now he was willing to vent his frustration on the person responsible.

This was the worst possible time of year as well. He was standing on the driveway to his house, his wife and children getting ready to leave the house behind him. Couldn't Gibbs be normal and take a single day of the year off? At the rate this was going, he was going to have to offer his agent double time to stay at home next Christmas.

"What the Hell is going on?" he growled down the phone to his errant agent. "Metro Police Chief just gave me an earful."

He heard his daughter calling for her mother, and wished he did not have to make this phone call within earshot of his family.

"Claims you broke into their crime scene and corrupted the chain of evidence," he continued, still fuming. "Tell me you didn't do that."

He honestly was not expecting a denial. Gibbs knew better than to lie to him, hopefully. Metro would not have called about this if they hadn't been pretty darn sure who was behind this. They probably gave out mugshots of the man to assist in identification when an NCIS agent interfered in an investigation.

"How'd he find out?" was all Gibbs had to say in his defense.

Vance wanted nothing more than to administer a head-slap in the same way Gibbs did to DiNozzo. Perhaps it would knock some sense into him. Then again, it was more likely that the ex-marine would kill him for such an insult.

"Metro got a call from the home security firm," he continued, lowering his voice as his children clambered into the car behind him.

"Come on Daddy!" his daughter called. He glanced at her over his shoulder before returning to his call.

"This how you spend your Christmas, Gibbs?" he inquired, his temper getting the better of him. "Most people are opening presents."

"Yeah," Gibbs answered, completely unconcerned. "Most people."

"Cops are on their way to pick up Quinn," he warned.

"Leon!" came his wife's voice from the car. "We're late."

He held up a hand to stall her. "Get him ready," he ordered before hanging up. He turned to the car behind him, pleased to see everyone seated and ready to go, but not happy about his own delay.

And then the car began to roll.

It picked up speed amazingly quickly. He could see his wife fumbling with the brake, trying to stop it, but it was too late.

He heard a loud crack as both of his legs broke, followed by immense pain. And then it all faded away…


	5. Roast Vance

_Very last update before I disappear for my Christmas trip home. No spoilers or pairings for this one - hope you enjoy!_

Idea Four: Roast Vance

"Do you not find this a little bit creepy, Abby?" McGee wondered aloud. "I mean, Christmas is the time of year for celebrations and general merriment."

Abby beamed at him. "We're roasting chestnuts over an open fire, Timmy," she reminded him. "Very Christmassy."

"That isn't all we're roasting," McGee pointed out.

If it was possible, Abby grinned even wider. "It's fun!"

"You can't roast the Director of NCIS and expect to get away with it!"

"Correction," Ziva piped up. "We have hogtied him, are currently roasting him, and Abby will dispose of all forensic evidence. What is the problem?"

Tony stared at Ziva. "The smell might have something to do with it. How do you plan to get rid of it?"

"Relax," Abby grinned. "We're in Autopsy! No one comes down here much anyway, and we can just say that there's an infectious body in one of the drawers. That will even keep Gibbs out."

"And no one's going to notice that Vance has vanished?" McGee checked. "I don't like looking at him either."

"He's supposed to look like that," Ziva observed. "I gagged him so that he could not scream the building down, but the smell will linger for a while. I cannot do anything about that."

"Ow!" Tony yelped as he touched his food. "That flame really is hot."

Ziva elbowed him. "Stupid," she muttered. "If it was not hot, we would not be able to roast Vance."

"How have you not set the fire alarms off?" McGee worried. "We could be arrested at any minute."

"Would you relax?" Abby whined. "It's Christmas! I turned off the video feed and the smoke detectors before I attacked him in his office. No one will figure this out. Give me some more chestnuts."

Ziva reluctantly handed some over. This was all Abby's idea anyway. "How long do you think it will take him to die?" she asked.

Tony sat up straight, or as straight as he could while sitting on the edge of an Autopsy table. "Ten bucks says he'll last another three hours."

"Ten bucks says an hour," Ziva countered. "Smoke inhalation will get him first."

"Ten bucks says two hours," Abby chimed.

McGee sighed. This was going to be a long night. Maybe he should grab a few hours of sleep? Although he would have to go up to Abby's lab to be clear of the smell…


	6. The Fire Alarm

_A/N: I apologise sincerely for not updating this in so long - but I've finished it now! Updates should be every two days. Please don't give me any more plotbunnies; I'm overflowing already._

Idea Five: The Fire Alarm

Leroy Jethro Gibbs strolled off the elevator and into Autopsy. His day was going from bad to worse.

It didn't help that the previous day had been such a mess. His team had caught a triple homicide combined with a missing child. With the clock ticking, they had needed all their skills and patience to navigate through the maze of connections. Ducky had been up to his elbows in his gusts, working alone because Palmer had come down with a stomach bug, while Abby had spent most of her time yelling at Major Mass Spec for picking the wrong time to break down.

And then Director Vance had decided to have an unscheduled fire drill.

Gibbs understood the need for fire drills. Hell, he even understood the need for the odd unscheduled fire drill. But he had not been in the mood for an unscheduled fire drill while they were at a crucial stage in an investigation.

Everyone's concentrations had been shot. Everyone had had to leave the building immediately, leave all their work and notes, and just get out. He had caught up with a panicking Abby outside, convinced the building was on fire and Bert would perish in the coming inferno.

After restraining the Goth from running up to Vance and telling him there was still a man inside – something that had only worked when he promised to make another farting hippo if anything happened to Bert – they had solemnly traipsed back in. Gibbs had wondered how long his team would have been able to restrain Abby for had he not been present. He had a sudden vision of Tony, Ziva and McGee in various pieces on the floor while the Goth charged into a burning building, before quashing it.

And then the fire alarm had gone off again. He had just sat down when the familiar screech filled the air. Sighing, he had ordered his team to evacuate. Outside, he had seen Vance's head through the crowd and fought his way over.

"Again?" he had asked.

"The building needs to be evacuated in an orderly and timely fashion," came the reply. "We will continue until we can act like adults."

It had taken another three tries until Vance was happy. Gibbs had been seething, Ziva had offered to castrate him with a toothpick, Tony had been threatening to punch his face in if they had to leave one more time and Abby had started a list of the ways she could kill him without leaving a scrap of forensic evidence.

And now he was hunting for his irritating boss. His case had been solved, the dirtbag caught, and all he needed was a signature to tie him to terrorism and leave him to rot. But Vance had picked an odd time to disappear.

"Hey Ducky," he greeted his friend.

Ducky glanced up from weighing a lung. "Jethro," he replied. "I thought Mr. Palmer delivered the autopsy reports a few hours ago."

"He did," Gibbs answered. "Seen Vance?"

Ducky pointed to the morgue freezer. "In there. I can't believe I had to evacuate five times yesterday! Are you aware that I had to sow Corporal Davenport back up every time, put him away and make a note on my report? The defense will have a field day."

Gibbs risked a grin at his friend's rant.

"I don't know if he's still alive," Ducky continued. "And I don't care. He's staying in there. He inconvenienced me; I'm going to inconvenience him."

"Not a problem, Ducky," Gibbs smiled as he headed towards the elevator. "Least I know he's not going to set the fire alarm off again."


	7. BZ Gas

Idea Six: BZ Gas

_A/N: Idea by 4sweetdreams_

Timothy McGee hummed to himself as he waited for the elevator to stop. Today was a good day. They had solved the case and caught the bad guy before lunch, Gibbs had been in a good mood and Ziva had given him a chocolate bar. He felt the day could have been a lot worse.

Admittedly they still had half a day left and a disturbing amount of paperwork to complete. Gibbs had ordered them to place it on his desk before they went home tonight. And then he had disappeared and no one had dared to wonder where he was.

He hadn't been seen for hours. Vance had also been out of sight, leading Ziva to theorize that they were holed up somewhere planning a mission. McGee had to admit it made sense.

Now there was a rumor about Gibbs being seen in Abby's lab. McGee would rather have avoided the boss if that were possible, especially as he was sure some more work could be found for him if it appeared he wasn't working hard enough. Unfortunately he needed Abby's forensic report to complete his own report. He didn't have a choice.

The elevator doors opened with a familiar ping and he stepped into the lab. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong – the music was off. To add to his confusion, Gibbs and Ducky were gathered around the screen at the back of the lab while Abby was observing the same thing on her computer monitor.

"Abby?" he called.

She didn't turn around, worrying him even more. "Come over here, Timmy," she ordered. "And could you lock the door? I should have remembered that earlier."

He obeyed, very nervous now. Gibbs and Ducky had started to chuckle over something so he made his way to Abby's side. He jumped a foot when she stuck a bowl of popcorn under his nose.

"Grab a seat and watch the show," she grinned, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

"Is that…" He paused, sure he going mad. "Is that _Vance_?"

She shoved the popcorn into his lap and he found himself taking a few pieces. "Yep," she answered.

"What is he doing in that room?"

"Gibbs lured him there and Ducky made sure he ingested it."

"Ingested what?" McGee was a little concerned about the way Vance was writhing on the floor, clearly in pain.

"Remember Sharif?" Ducky interjected from across the lab. "It appears we had a little BZ gas left in the evidence locker."

"How much is 'a little'?" McGee inquired.

"Look!" Abby squealed. "He's eating his own eyeball!"

McGee found himself glued to the screen. His worry was evaporating. Gibbs and Ducky would have taken care to cover their tracks, while Abby would take care of anything they missed. And this was rather amusing after all…

"That is so gross," Abby declared eventually.

McGee gave her a look.

"How could anyone eat their own eyeball?" she answered his unspoken question. "It's gross and yet it's cool at the same time."

He grinned, understanding what she meant. "Did you record it?"

"Of course I did!" She looked offended at the very notion that she could forget. "I'll give you a complete copy tomorrow."

He smiled as he unlocked the door and left the lab. He was sure he'd been down there for something, but he couldn't remember what it was now…


	8. Laxatives

_A/N: In my defense, someone has been stealing a lot of my food recently. There is currently a note up on my cupboards warning people that I've added laxatives to everything, even though most of my food is now being stored in my room. But I can't remove things from the fridge or freezer… This came out of thinking about what would happen if I baked a big cake full of laxatives and left it in the kitchen._

Idea Seven: Laxatives

The cool of Autopsy was especially welcome during a heatwave. Ducky had always preferred it to being stuck in the squad room with everyone overheating at the same time. The smell alone could put him off his lunch.

Which was odd as he had no problems eating after dealing with the bodies that came his way. Perhaps it was connected to him viewing them as people still, as his guests.

His latest guest had posed quite a mystery to him. Director Leon Vance. Rumor had it that he had been spending a lot of time in the bathroom before his untimely demise. Ducky had not been entirely sure what to make of the rumor – especially knowing the rumors around here. Things were taken out of context so easily, and that was without Anthony adding his own to the pile.

Nevertheless, it appeared the grapevine was correct for once, although they were naturally wrong in the cause. It was not because he had been meeting younger agents in the bathroom, nor because he had smuggled his wife into one, nor because he was under so much stress that the bathroom was the one spot he felt safe in.

Ducky removed his gloves and waited patiently for Abigail to appear. Although he was confident in his findings, he preferred to wait for her tox screen before jumping to any conclusions. He trusted the evidence, not his gut.

The ping of the elevator drew his attention and he looked towards the door in time to see a stream of people leave. Curious as to why he was getting so many silent visitors at once, he waited until he saw Abigail moving towards him.

Jethro had led the pack in, looking annoyed. Anthony was present, as was Ziva who was busy prodding her partner. Timothy stood to one side, clearly afraid of getting caught in the middle of his feuding teammates.

But it was not just Jethro's team present. Mr. Palmer had appeared and was standing among them, as was Cynthia and even Agent Jardine.

He looked back to Abigail who had stopped next to him. She held out a piece of paper with a flourish. "Tox screen," she announced.

He read it carefully, suddenly understanding why she had invited everyone into his domain. And then he addressed the crowd.

"Hands up anyone who has been slipping laxatives to our late Director."

Jethro's hand rose first, Abigail's close behind. One by one, everyone present but himself raised their hands.

Ducky gave Mr. Palmer a glare before continuing. "I think I'll have to record this death as 'misadventure'," he decided aloud. "And next time someone decides to use laxatives, would you please check with each other first? I do not want to have to deal with another accidental overdose."


	9. Beachy Head

_A/N: Beachy Head is my local suicide spot. I know I appear rather blasé about using this place, but it's such a common suicide spot that everyone in our county jokes about it. Bus drivers get nervous when someone asks for a one way ticket there. There are now volunteers on top of the cliff at all hours of the day and night to talk to anyone who goes there. I may have omitted the volunteers in this story…_

Idea Eight: Beachy Head

Jacob Hughes sighed as their motorboat pulled alongside a body in the water. He had known it was too good to be true when they had gone without a suicide for over three months. With an average of twenty deaths a year, Beachy Head was never really quiet.

His partner stared at the body in the water. Jacob was fond of Megan Ackles; she had a great sense of humor, had yet to crash their coastguard boat and seemed to enjoy being on body retrieval duty. It might have had something to do with her training in forensic science, but at least she wasn't squeamish.

The body was floating face down in the water, clearly battered beyond repair even if the 'face down' bit hadn't given him a hint. Jacob carefully maneuvered their boat to make it easier to help this poor soul out of the water.

Megan stared at the body for a moment. "Businessman," she suggested.

"I could have guessed that," he argued. "He's wearing a suit."

"A nice suit. Costs more than I make a month," she noted, grinning at him.

"What else, Grissom?" He couldn't resist using her nickname.

She shrugged. "Can we get him out of the water?"

He nodded, confident he no longer needed to steer the boat to keep it with the body. The waters were still here. He shifted over and together they began the thankless task of shifting a bloated corpse out of the English Channel.

Eventually, their man lay on the bottom of their boat. Jacob immediately turned the engine on and made for base. The smell was appalling and it was only going to get worse. Water was slowly pooling around the dead man as it left his body. Jacob knew from experience it was going to take a few days of draining until the body looked fairly normal again and someone could attempt to identify it.

They were almost back at base when he realized Megan hadn't spoken in a while. Keeping one eye on the sea ahead of him, he tried to catch a glimpse of her. She was standing over the body, deep in thought.

"What?" he asked.

She looked up, surprised he had caught her staring. "I think I recognize him."

"All bloated like that?"

She nodded. "Leon Vance, Director of some American federal agency. NCSI? He was in London over the weekend, at some international conference."

"What are you, some kind of savant?" he questioned.

"You don't watch the news," she pointed out.

He shrugged. She knew he watched repeats every day rather than catch anything new.

"His face has been all over it. He disappeared on the last day of the conference."

"Director?" he mused. "Guess he's under a lot of stress in that job. London's only two hours from here."

"One," she corrected him. "Depends on who's driving."

"Too much stress," he decided, choosing to ignore her. He didn't need a reminder of his mother's hellish driving. "Decides to end it all."

"Or he was pushed."

He gave her a look. "Who would kill the Director of some fancy federal agency?" he scoffed.

She smiled. "I guess there's going to be quite the suspect list."


	10. Live Autopsy

Idea Nine: Live Autopsy

Jimmy Palmer settled into his role as Ducky's assistant comfortably. He always enjoyed days like this – days where Ducky taught other medical students.

They made quite the team, Ducky doing most of the explaining and work while he himself added little comments and notes, providing his mentor with anything he needed and occasionally handing over a bowl when someone turned green.

Not that these students tended to turn green. Medical students were far less likely to vomit than new NCIS agents. Then he tended to be less of an assistant and more of a carer, passing out bowls to Probies while making sure some of the more comfortable ones didn't touch anything they shouldn't.

Today was something of a treat. Instead of autopsying a dead body, Ducky had decided to provide a live autopsy. On Director Leon Vance.

Palmer could sympathize; Vance had been especially tough on Ducky lately. It had all started when Metro accused Ducky of stealing a body, a complete misunderstanding. Agent Gibbs had stolen the body during a routine trip to the precinct. His argument had been that Metro should not be autopsying a sailor without permission from NCIS.

That had set off an unholy row between the two agencies. Metro had pointed out that this particular sailor had shot three of their men. Gibbs had responded by deciding to investigate the shooting of the three men and had declared the whole thing to be a cover-up. Vance had blamed Ducky for prolonging the disagreement by insisting on keeping the body until he had finished with it.

Which was unfair. Someone had to be the advocate for the victim and the investigators seemed to be too busy arguing over who had control of him. Ducky had merely done his job under difficult circumstances.

And so Ducky had decided to solve the problem by offering Vance a live autopsy. Well, not so much offer as ask Agent Gibbs and Officer David to truss him up and make sure he wasn't going to break free.

The two of them were currently standing behind the students, looking over their shoulders and keeping an eye on the restraints. Agent DiNozzo and Abby had joined them. Palmer was glad of their company and of having Abby's sharp mind at hand. She had been the one to suggest turning on the biohazard light outside so that no one would come in and catch them in the act.

Another muffled groan came from Vance as Ducky began to cut out parts of his liver. "Can anyone tell me what we can learn from this organ?" he inquired.

Palmer was thankfully of Abby's gag. Vance would probably have screamed the building down by now if it hadn't been for that.

One of the students tentatively spoke up. "He drinks a bit perhaps, not much."

Ducky smiled at him in encouragement. "Very good. And what would we be seeing if our guest drank a lot?"

"Cirrhosis," came the reply. "Some scarring."

"Excellent," Ducky beamed. "Now I need to take some more samples for Abby…"

"That's me!" the Goth called excitedly from the back.

"And then we can go onto our next organ," Ducky decided. "What shall we examine next?"


	11. Pilated Woodpecker

_A/N: Idea by losingmymind2_

Idea Ten: Pilated Woodpecker

"Doctor Mallard," Vance began. "I was hoping you could help me."

The blood trickling down the side of his face did not make him look good as a Director, but Vance knew this had to stop. Unfortunately, finding a way out of this mess seemed impossible.

It was all because of the damn bird. Somehow, and he didn't want to know how, a pilated woodpecker had been attracted to his toothpick. He couldn't get the bird to leave him alone and it had been merrily drilling a hole in his skull for the past few days. If this didn't end soon, Vance was sure he would either exsanguinate or start losing pieces of his brain.

He liked his brain. And his constant bleeding was leaving a mess on the carpets.

"I am sorry, Director," came the reply from the esteemed doctor. Vance could have sworn his title sounded almost like a derogatory term coming from Ducky, but he knew he could never prove it. "But we've been over this before. I cannot help you unless Legal allows me to."

"I just want you to get rid of the bird!" he demanded.

Ducky sighed, shaking his head softly. "I have been advised that this particular species is federally protected. As such, I am not allowed to hurt, annoy, pester, molest or kill it. I fear even touching it may be enough for a conviction and I do not feel I would do well in prison."

Vance groaned. Every agent in the building suddenly seemed to know the laws applicable to this one bird better than they knew the Miranda Rights. "All I am asking you to do –"

"I cannot help you," Ducky interjected. "We are still waiting for a definitive statement from Legal and I will not put myself at risk in the meantime. I suggest you continue with what I suggested – try to clean your wound as often as possible, without hurting, annoying, pestering, molesting or killing the woodpecker of course, and we will have to hope it goes away of its own accord."

"Isn't it obvious this bird is not going to leave me of its own accord?" Vance demanded. "It's obsessed. I'm going to bleed to death in my own office."

"I find that unlikely," Ducky noted. "I think it will have removed good chunks of your brain before then. You see, Abigail ran a sample of your blood when it first became attracted to you and she found you have high clotting factors –"

Vance cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I have a permanent headache, I cannot focus and this _pest _seems to delight in attacking me the most when I have a telephone call or a video conference in MTAC. I have not been able to see visitors in the past three days; Cynthia is having to cancel all of my appointments. And you are telling me you can't help me?"

Ducky nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately. Like I said, when Legal have checked all available avenues, I will come back and explore your options with you. Until then, my hands are tied."

Vance sighed as he gestured to Ducky that he could leave. At this rate, he was going to be dead by morning.

As if the bird could read his thoughts, it suddenly began to work more feverishly. Vance groaned. He was going to check his will while he could still read.


	12. Death by Cynthia

Idea Eleven: Death by Cynthia

Cynthia frowned to herself as she looked at the Director's schedule. She had only just finished rearranging it after Vance had decided he wanted Friday morning off, and now he had decided to take the afternoon as well. It was not possible to juggle all the meetings at such short notice.

Jenny would never have done such a thing. Emergencies were emergencies and Cynthia was happy to help then, but Vance was planning to go fishing.

While Jenny had lived and breathed her job, spending more nights on her office couch than she did in her bed back home, Vance was very different. He always left at the same time every night, claiming his wife would kill him if he was late.

Cynthia privately felt that the SecNav would kill him when he realized how differently his new Director worked. She found herself obliged to work the same hours as Vance, whereas Jenny had always sent her home with a warm smile when the evening began to loom over them. She and Jenny had talked privately about a lot of things, female things. She could never have imagined a better boss.

And now she had a boss who drove her insane. He knew nothing about her, except for an uncanny ability to give her extra work on the evenings she wanted to leave early. There was now a lull in the afternoon when she had very little to do, only for the work to appear out of nowhere an hour before she was due to go home.

Truth be told, she was fed up. Life had changed too much. Agent Gibbs no longer burst through the door despite her best efforts to keep him out. Tony, Ziva and McGee no longer begged her to spy on the conversations between Jenny and Gibbs. Even Ducky was up here less often; he did not take _this_ Director out to lunch occasionally.

Life was just… boring now. Vance knew she had been Jenny's assistant and treated her as such. She had soon learned that he disliked the old 'regime' as he termed it. He wanted to make his mark on the agency; he wanted things to be different.

And whatever changes he made, it still looked the same when he had the same secretary.

Sighing softly, she reached down under her desk for something she had taken from the evidence garage. Strictly speaking, she hadn't taken it from the evidence locker as she didn't know the keycode, but she had been talking to Abby and the Goth had retrieved this for her.

It was strangely reassuring to know that this particular axe had been used by a serial killer to chop his victims into little tiny pieces. It made her feel more confident.

She made her way to the Director's door – she couldn't think of it as Vance's office. From experience, she knew he would be preparing to go home soon. And he would be expecting her to have sorted his schedule for tomorrow before he left.

She opened the door, smiled warmly at him as he sat in his chair and raised the axe.

She left shortly afterwards, feeling satisfied. Reaching for her cell phone, she called an unfamiliar number.

"Agent Gibbs? It's Cynthia. Vance has… met with a little accident."


	13. Sherwood Anderson

_A/N: Idea from SJ_

Idea Twelve: Sherwood Anderson

"This reminds me of Sherwood Anderson," Ducky declared, his eyes firmly fixed on Vance's innards.

Abby found herself smiling. It wasn't very often that Ducky let her assist with an autopsy, but today was a bit special. Vance had collapsed at a meeting with several other agency heads and died rapidly. The powers that be were calling for results as fast as possible and Palmer was on vacation in Hawaii. Ducky needed another assistant fast and she was happy to help out.

And if Ducky wanted to tell her new and exciting stories, who was she to complain?

"Who was Sherwood Anderson?" she asked, holding out a small metal bowl as Ducky dropped a sample of Vance's left kidney into it.

"Sherwood Anderson was a writer," Ducky recalled, continuing to root around inside their dear departed Director. "In 1941, when I was just a young lad, he swallowed a toothpick at a party."

"Hopefully not your party," she joked.

He smiled patiently at her. "We never moved in the same circles, my dear. Anyway, he swallowed this toothpick and did not seek medical attention. Or perhaps he did. I can't remember the exact details."

Abby smiled encouragingly at him as she went to retrieve another bowl. This was so exciting! If she couldn't cut into a body, at least she was able to watch Ducky do it.

"He died," Ducky continued. "Of peritonitis, the same thing our Director here appears to have died from."

"Which one's peritonitis?" she inquired. Medical terminology was not her strong suit.

"Inflammation of the peritoneum," came the reply.

"What's that when it's at home?" She really was going to pay more attention to Ducky's autopsy reports in the future. How could there be parts of the body she knew nothing about?

"The lining of the abdominal cavity," he informed her, his eyes twinkling. "Not something that is usually mentioned in one of my reports."

She would have hugged him in response if her hands and half of Ducky's gown were not already covered in bodily fluids. Ducky always knew what was wrong with her and how to soothe her.

"You should have told Vance about Sherwood Anderson," she decided. "Maybe he would have cut back on his toothpick chewing habits."

"Alas, Vance never enjoyed my stories as much as some people." He shot her another friendly smile. "But I trust you will be prepared if ever you should swallow a toothpick."

"I will run to the nearest ER," she promised. "And insist they operate immediately."

He chuckled as he began to delve back into Vance.

"So it's a natural death?" she checked. "We can tell the FBI that their Director is probably safe?"

"I think Jethro would appreciate it if I was one hundred percent sure of my findings," Ducky noted. "I mean, this is the Director of the FBI we're talking about."

"The toothpick could have been a coincidence," Abby decided, cottoning on. "And the longer we take to report to the FBI, the longer they'll be inconvenienced."

"Precisely. Now, seeing as you are my student today, what do I need to do next?"


	14. Termites

_A/N: Idea from losingmymind2_

Idea Thirteen: Termites

Tony DiNozzo always loved a new crime scene. It was part of a puzzle, a puzzle that needed to be solved. Justice would prevail and they would win through in the end.

He did not enjoy finding dead bodies. Dead bodies meant a family who would mourn, who would demand answers faster than they could provide them. Dead bodies smelt and had the potential for ruining his clothes, should the Probie decide to barf.

The locations were sometimes nice. More often than not, the location was a filthy motel room, a back alley, a dumpster… the list went on seemingly forever. But sometimes they got lucky. A state park was beautiful, especially in the early morning, even if it meant an outdoor crime scene and all the complications that came with it.

This location was unusual. And he was rather happy to see this particular person dead.

Gibbs' basement had been turned into a crime scene, much to the boss' displeasure. Someone, probably Ziva as she was the only one who had a death wish, had draped the half-finished wooden boat in bright yellow crime scene tape.

And Director Leon Vance lay on the cold concrete floor beneath it, definitely dead.

From a distance, he looked as though he was merely sleeping. But up close, it was clear that something had eaten him. Lots of somethings. Small somethings.

Because of the location, Tony had found himself in charge of the team. He had immediately dispatched the McGeek to question Gibbs, not daring to have that conversation himself. Ziva was busy taking photos while Ducky and Palmer were examining their soon-to-be latest guest.

"Time of death?" he asked the medical examiner.

"Somewhere around ten o'clock last night," Ducky finally declared. "Does that help Jethro?"

"Seeing as he was in the squad room with all of us until eleven," Ziva piped up. "It would let him off the reel."

"Hook," Tony corrected. "Found a cause of death yet?"

Ducky sat back on his heels, smiling slightly. "I believe I may have. Do you remember Jethro mentioning having to bring in the exterminator again?"

Tony shook his head. "The man barely speaks," he noted. "I would have remembered if he said something about it."

"Gibbs has termites," Ducky told him, almost conspiratorially. "And it appears that the termites were attracted to our late Director."

"So they ate him alive?" Ziva's eyes lit up at the thought of such a gruesome death.

"Abby's going to love this," Tony muttered. "I nominate Ziva to tell her."

"Gladly," Ziva grinned. "This would be a most effective way of killing someone. It would not leave a trace and anyone would attribute it to natural causes."

Tony made a mental note to run screaming from his apartment if he ever saw a termite. It might be embarrassing, but knowing Ziva it would be lifesaving.

"If I am telling Abby, do you wish to tell McGee?" she asked suddenly.

He looked over at her in confusion.

"If it is okay with you, I shall arrange for our Director to be moved," Ducky interrupted.

Tony turned back to the doctor. "Yes, yes of course." He'd almost forgotten Ducky was there.

"Do you want to tell McGee?" Ziva repeated slowly.

"Why?" he demanded.

"If McGee is afraid of maggots, he may not like termites," she pointed out.

A slow grin formed on his face. "Finish up down here," he ordered. "I'll be with the Probie."


	15. Blizzard

_A/N: Idea from Jess_

Idea Fourteen: Blizzard

Leon Vance was not happy to be traipsing around in search of a witness. He was the Director, for crying out loud, not a field agent.

Unfortunately, everyone at NCIS seemed to have caught the flu lately. It was absurd; they were all supposed to have flu jabs every winter. But this winter, something seemed to have gone wrong.

With so many agents ill, he had been forced to help out. Being in the field made a nice change from his office, he had to admit, but he longed to be back in the warm familiar surroundings.

Gibbs had naturally picked up a high profile case just before everyone was due to go home for Christmas. McGee had already caught his flight to see his family and Ziva was on a taxiing plane when they had got the call. Vance had found himself forced to help out with the very team he had broken up.

Gibbs had spent most of the time glaring at him. Tony had a look on his face which suggested he had learned some interesting and painful ways to kill a man from his partner. Even Abby had not been her usual bubbly self around him, complaining loudly that she would much rather have Jenny around.

He had bitten his lip and accepted that the two people most likely to be friendly to him were thousands of miles away and had no chance of coming back. McGee liked him because they both understood computers and semi-legal methods to get the job done. Ziva had simply accepted that he was in charge and there was nothing she could do to change it. Although he was being careful around her; she was an assassin after all.

And now he found himself in the Canadian wilderness, hunting for a witness when he would rather be at home with his family.

Gibbs had given him the job, pointing out sharply that he would have picked Ziva but she was in Israel. The man had a point; the Director was the only one who could commandeer a plane so close to Christmas so they could get the vital information needed from this witness.

It was just his luck that the witness in question lived in the middle of nowhere and eschewed everything modern. Any journey would have to be made on foot whatever the weather.

The sky suddenly turned white and flakes of snow came down with such force that Vance found himself wondering whether he should go on or not. He couldn't see his hand when he waved it in front of his face. Coming to the decision it would be better to turn back, he did so.

And rapidly realized he had lost his sense of direction. He reached for the compass in his pocket before recalling leaving it on the side in his hotel room when he had decided it would be worthless.

He wandered around for a while, trying to stay warm and hopefully stumble across something useful, but he had the feeling he was going in circles. It was getting colder and colder…

Eventually, exhausted, he decided to sit down. Just for a little while…

As Leon Vance breathed his last, the skies suddenly cleared and the day was beautiful once again.


	16. Buried Alive

_A/N: Idea from Kelsey_

Idea Fifteen: Buried Alive

Abby scurried up to the squad room as fast as she could in her favorite platform boots. Her latest evidence was clutched in her hand and she was not prepared to wait for Gibbs and his magic. Every second counted. It was a race against time.

She loved racing against time. It challenged her, forced her to find ways to perform accurately and precisely in such a short timeframe. Everything went on hold until she had solved the puzzle and then life would begin again.

This time it was especially important. Director Leon Vance had been kidnapped by an evil serial killer who had buried him alive, asked for a ransom and provided a live feed. While McGee worked on tracing the feed, she was busy analyzing everything else.

She knew they would solve this case in time – they had to. Vance was their Director. Although it wasn't as though he could fire her if she messed something up which led to them not rescuing him in time…

Ignoring the devil on her shoulder, she charged into the squad room the moment she reached the right level. She almost hit Ziva as she barreled out of the stairwell door.

"What are you doing standing around?" Abby panicked. "We have to save Vance!"

Ziva continued to sharpen her knife. "There is no hurry, Abby."

Abby rolled her eyes. Perhaps her sense of urgency did not translate into Hebrew. "Vance, buried alive?" she pointed out.

Ziva pushed off the wall and led her to the squad room. Abby paused.

There was no sense of urgency here either! McGee was checking his online bank accounts, Tony was doodling on a piece of paper and Gibbs was sipping his coffee slowly.

"Hey Abs." Tony spotted her first. "Popcorn?"

Now that she looked more closely, Tony and Gibbs were watching the live feed on the big screens.

"What about Vance?" she squealed.

Gibbs turned to face her. "Do you really want Vance back?" he asked.

She considered for a moment. "Yes…"

"How many official notices have you had about breaking the dress code?" McGee inquired.

"How many times has he ordered you to turn the music off in your lab?" Ziva questioned before she could answer.

"How many times has he stood over your shoulder and watched you work?" Tony checked.

"Maybe it would be good if he didn't come back," she admitted.

Ducky strolled into the squad room. "I have more popcorn," he announced cheerfully.

Abby snagged some and settled down next to McGee. "How long until he runs out of air?" she found herself asking.

"About four hours before he loses consciousness," McGee answered. "Another four and he'll be dead."

"Want to double-check those calculations?" she grinned.

Across from her, she could already hear Tony taking bets on how long it would be before Vance started panicking. Ziva threw a paperclip at him in response.

Ducky perched on the table. "Ah, calculations. May I join in?"

"Of course," she smiled at him. "So we know the coffin in six feet long by two feet wide. How deep is it?"


	17. Bear Hunt

_A/N: Idea from GOTHGIRLREID_

Idea Sixteen: Bear Hunt

Leon Vance groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness. His limbs felt weak, he was exhausted and he had no idea where he was.

He cast his mind back. The last thing he could remember was being sat at his desk in his office. It had been a day like any other day; nothing unusual had occurred.

Wriggling his toes, he groaned again as he felt pins and needles. It was better than nothing and proved his back wasn't broken. His head ached and he felt as though he was going to throw up at any moment. And there was a strange taste in his mouth…

He had been drugged. He was surprised it took him so long to recognize the symptoms, but they fit. Someone had slipped him something.

He cast his mind back again, this time focusing on anything he had eaten. Breakfast had been at home. Lunch had been with a senator. Dinner had been takeout at his desk. And he trusted Papa Joe's.

It had to be in a drink then. Coffee at home, coffee at work. No one had given him a drink, nothing had tasted out of place. His mind ran in circles. Who would do this to him?

Despite the nausea and the headache, he decided he would be much better off if he opened his eyes. The first attempt hurt. The second attempt succeeded in him seeing light, but it hurt so much he promptly closed his eyes again.

Taking several deep breaths, he forced himself to relax. After a few minutes, the nausea retreated and his head felt a little better.

It might have been his third attempt, but it worked. Judging from the amount of light and the soft breeze, it was early morning and he was outside. Unfortunately it didn't tell him which state he was in or where the nearest phone was, but it was a start.

His eyes closed again, he realized he was lying on a cold concrete floor. He forced himself to roll over and sit up, keeping his eyes closed so the world did not spin quite so much.

Next, he opened his eyes and looked around. Lots of plants. Trees. And a concrete wall a few paces from him. If it hadn't been for the wall, he would have guessed he was in a national park somewhere.

A quick check followed. None of his bones seemed broken, he couldn't find any injuries. His head might hurt but there was no bump. His pockets were empty and his shoes were still on his feet.

Very odd.

He got up and began to walk around, taking it slowly at first to allow his blood to circulate around his limbs. He found a number of boulders, yet more concrete walls and more plants.

It did not take him long to discover a carcass. Simply discarded on the floor, something had definitely eaten it and left the remains. It was worrying – what else was in here with him?

A low growl caught his attention. Spinning towards it, his heart almost stopped.

A grizzly bear.

Now he knew where he was. He had been to the zoo only the other day. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be around but it didn't stop him calling for help. Repeatedly.

None came. Only the bear.


	18. Locked In

_A/N: Idea from 4sweetdreams_

Idea Seventeen: Locked In

Ducky hummed softly to himself as he entered Autopsy. As usual, he was the first one down here. He always liked arriving before Mr. Palmer as it gave him the chance to get ready for the day ahead.

He hung up his coat before performing his first job of the morning – making tea. There was nothing quite like a good cup of tea to make the day go well. Mr. Palmer would naturally be offered one whenever he arrived, usually in an hour or so.

The kettle boiling, he looked over at his paperwork to help him determine what he would do next. His primary job on Monday morning was normally to chase up anyone who had yet to claim a body. He would undoubtedly need a few drawers soon and it was better to free some up while he had a chance.

The kettle continued to boil as he mentally calculated how many guests he should have. Five sounded right. PFC Kenco, who had not been wearing his seatbelt when he had crashed; Sergeant Tipps, who had put a bullet in his own skull when his wife had left him; Petty Officer Tee, embroiled in a bar brawl; Corporal Tetley, brain aneurism; Sergeant Caffey, accident on the climbing wall.

All of his guests had been dealt with, except the Petty Officer. He needed to stay as Jethro's team were still investigating the circumstances surrounding his death.

From what he had heard from Mr. Palmer, who had heard everything from Anthony, 'Yorky' Tee had been attacked by a few men in a bar who had mysteriously vanished after the incident. Apparently, Ziva had proclaimed this could be a murder and Ducky could see her point. The little they had learnt suggested the men had not been very drunk and had simply attacked Tee for no reason.

Although his mother would have called it 'further proof of the human race's descent into anarchy' or 'young people today'.

The kettle began to squeal in the background. Pushing his thoughts to one side, he focused on making the perfect cup of tea. Milk in first, leave the teabag to sit for just the right amount of time…

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Something was wrong. Not something, someone. Someone was in the room with him.

He turned sharply, but no one was there. Wondering if he was jumping at shadows, he finished making his tea and took his first sip.

Perfect.

He turned around again and almost dropped his cup in shock.

"Hey Duck," Jethro greeted him.

Ducky took a deep breath. "I should start treating you like a leper," he warned. "A bell around your neck will prevent you from giving me a heart attack."

Jethro gave a small grin. "Can't find the paperwork for Tee."

Shaking his head, Ducky handed over the file. "When you find it, I need this copy back."

Jethro nodded. "Tony had it last and I'm not searching through everything on his desk."

Ducky smiled in understanding. As Jethro turned to leave, he called out. "Would you help me?"

"Of course," Jethro replied.

"I thought someone else was in here, just before you arrived," he continued.

"Only place someone could hide would be in a drawer," Jethro noted.

Ducky frowned. "It shouldn't take long to go through them."

They made their way over to the drawers in companionable silence. Jethro pointed at the first drawer.

"Tetley should be in there," Ducky added. "If someone is hiding, they'll be in an empty drawer."

They found him in the third drawer they checked. A frozen Leon Vance. Jethro searched for a pulse and found none.

"What on earth was he doing down here?" Ducky questioned.

"Last saw him Friday night," Jethro recalled, already leaving. "Probably decided to see what it was like in a drawer and accidentally locked himself in for the weekend."

Ducky shook his head in exasperation. "Fools have no one to blame but themselves," he told his new guest, before heading back to his warm tea.


	19. Squad Room Rail

_A/N: Idea from 4sweetdreams_

Idea Eighteen: Squad Room Rail

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not happy. Not that he was normally happy, but today he felt worse than usual.

Vance seemed to have spent his recent vacation coming up with a new series of regulations and agent were falling afoul of them all over the building. They were silly little things like no drinks in MTAC, no running through the corridors and no physical contact with co-workers without their permission. Apparently the latter applied to headslaps.

He wasn't stopping his headslaps, not when they were so effective. Ziva had been the one to work out the way around it; she had given him permission to headslap her at any time, thus meaning he was acting in the letter of the regulation if not the spirit.

DiNozzo had been a little reluctant to give the same permission, but a good glare had made him cave.

But it was driving just about every other agent in the building slowly insane. However, they were fighting back in their own way.

The technicians in MTAC were leaving every hour so they could sip a drink. Gibbs had smirked when he had learned they were deliberately taking their time. Agents claimed not to be running but 'walking quickly' or 'hurrying'. Abby had set up an early warning system so she would not be caught hugging anyone in front of Vance.

The spirit of rebellion had always made him feel good.

Unfortunately, he was unable to help out because of a nasty case they had picked up. Three children murdered across three weeks. The press were demanding answers.

He wasn't concerned about the press; it wasn't his job to deal with them. He wanted the dirtbag more than they wanted their next headline. If any of them were stupid enough to interfere or get in his way, he planned to shoot them and blame it on a misunderstanding.

What got on his nerves was his boss. Jenny would have warned him to play nicely with reporters and left him to do his job. Vance was poking his nose in where it didn't belong.

He insisted on being briefed every hour. This had taken up so much of their time that they were unable to investigate, so Gibbs had stopped bothering. Vance had then decided to yell at him in the middle of the squad room. Gibbs had let him vent before pointing out that he was supposed to be catching a killer, not effectively giving a press release every five minutes.

Although Vance might have stopped the briefings, he was now breathing down their necks. Abby had offered to come up with a system to keep him away, but warned it would take some time to work out a solution. Ducky had offered to allow them into Autopsy and telling everyone he had an infectious body down there.

Gibbs had enjoyed the last idea, but McGee had quietly pointed out that they needed phone lines and computers to hand. Autopsy was not the best place to do this.

And so they were stuck in the squad room. Vance had retreated for the moment, but not far. He was currently standing on the catwalk above the squad room, leaning on the rail and spying on their every move. Gibbs wasn't sure whether he wished Vance couldn't read lips or whether he wanted Vance to know every insult that was leaving his mouth.

He glared up at his boss again as Tony reported a lack of leads. Ziva suddenly became very animated on the phone and they all turned to look at her.

A low groaning noise was the only warning they got.

The rail on the catwalk abruptly gave way. Vance fell with it, all the way to the floor. Gibbs, Tony and McGee raced over to look at him.

"I think he's dead," McGee stated tentatively.

"What gave it away, McIdiot?" Tony teased. "Was it something to do with his neck being very broken?"

Gibbs headslapped them both.

"I have something!" Ziva's cry drew them away from the lifeless body of their Director and they almost ran over to her. "Karl Drew was seen acting suspiciously in each neighborhood just before each death."

"Gear up," Gibbs ordered.

"What about Vance?" McGee asked.

"He can wait," Gibbs decided, walking to the elevator with a soft smile on his face. His day was looking a lot better.


	20. Rest In Pieces

Idea Nineteen: Rest In Pieces

Tony sighed as he surveyed their crime scene.

It was on the ninth hole of a golf course, something that was contributing to Ducky's excitement over the whole situation. The views were stunning and meant that Tony did not care if Gibbs caught him slacking.

In fact, Gibbs wasn't likely to be noticing anything. The person who had found the body was a rather striking redhead. Knowing it was best to leave Gibbs to talk to any and all redheads, Tony had taken charge of the team.

Ziva was taking photographs, McGoo had been dispatched to search the neighboring holes as the dispersal area seemed rather large, and he himself was trying to take measurements. He used trying because he was more concerned with watching the boss flirt.

Gibbs looked right at him for a moment and Tony turned away to observe Ducky and Palmer, desperate to keep his morning head-slap free. Ducky was still prancing about in excitement while Palmer looked rather nervous.

And with good reason. Someone had stuck Leon Vance into a woodchipper, thus spreading his dismembered body over a wide area. It was going to take a long time to process this crime scene. They really could do with Gibbs' help, but Tony had no intention of going over and asking for the boss to join in. He liked his head on his shoulders.

Part of him wondered whether Vance had been alive before the woodchipper had had its way. It was going to be the first question Abby asked after all. She was going to love this case.

He sighed again. They were never going to recover every last piece of the body, but Gibbs would make them try. In fact, Gibbs was likely to force them to remain out here until they found every last piece, even if it took years. They were going to have to live on this patch of land, miles from civilization…

The headslap came as a surprise. He whirled to find Ziva behind him.

"Do you plan to help?" she asked innocently, or as innocently as a Mossad assassin could.

"I am observing the crime scene," he protested.

She snorted. "As far as I am aware, Gibbs did not say the crime scene included the redheaded witness."

"I am committing her face to memory in case she turns out to be connected with this," he answered.

"You have not been looking at her face," she stated, taking a few more photographs not far from him.

"And how would you know, Miss David, if you were working?"

She snapped a photograph of him. "I can multi-task. You cannot."

"I can multi-task," he argued.

She giggled. "You cannot even talk on your cell phone and read GSM at the same time!"

He scowled at her. "That was at the end of a very long day."

They both received headslaps.

"I will see if Ducky needs any more photographs," Ziva decided.

"Going to help McGee, boss," Tony added at the same time.

As Tony left, he looked over his shoulder to see Gibbs' attention was back on the redhead. Nothing new there then.


	21. Zombies

_A/N: Idea from Just Another Tomboy_

Idea Twenty: Zombies

Halloween. Normally Leon Vance enjoyed the holiday, but tonight he had to work.

Already, he had overheard Tony DiNozzo talking about how creepy Halloween was. About how all the odd cases came their way at this time of year. And then the obligatory movie references had followed, until Gibbs had thankfully delivered the requisite headslap.

On his way back to his office, he had wondered why Gibbs' team had been the first to volunteer to work tonight. He supposed it was because they had little else to do. Ziva was unlikely to celebrate the holiday, Tony had made his feelings clear about it, McGee was happy enough with his computers and far less likely to end up being egged if he was at work, while Gibbs didn't seem to celebrate anything.

Not even Christmas. Or his birthday. He didn't tell people when it was; Vance only knew himself because Jenny had told him the date years ago.

He stared at the paperwork before him. Much as he would have liked to go home early tonight, paperwork had appeared out of nowhere and it needed to be dealt with. Vance made an effort to go home as early as he could, but tonight he had no choice. If he didn't the mountain of papers in front of him, he would have to work through the night tomorrow.

Settling down, he briefly wondered where Cynthia was. He hadn't seen her since lunch. Deciding to hunt for her later, he picked up the first folder and began.

It was close to midnight when he finished, placing his signature on the final folder and pushing it to one side. The building had fallen quiet. Despite having worked late into the night before, it felt odd.

He decided he was letting Tony's horror stories play tricks on his mind. There should only be a few people left in the Navy Yard, including Gibbs' team. There was nothing to worry about.

He didn't believe in ghosts, zombies, vampires or any of that silly nonsense. He did believe in evil men, which included the possibility of a mad axeman outside his door, but he brushed that thought aside. A mad axeman would have barged in long ago, not settled in a seat outside to wait.

And he would have had to go through Gibbs' team, with an ex-marine, ex-cop and a Mossad assassin. He was perfectly safe.

Sighing, he began to gather his belongings slowly. There was no need to rush at this hour. No one would be awake when he arrived home.

Eventually he left his office, the odd feeling inside him intensifying. If he believed in Gibbs' infamous gut, he would have termed it a gut feeling. Something was wrong.

He found out what it was when he was halfway down the stairs between the catwalk and the squad room. People began emerging from the shadows. But they weren't people, he realized when he looked closer. They were zombies.

It took him a moment to work out that the zombies _were _people. He recognized Gibbs under the make-up. And Cynthia. And Tony. And Agent Jardine.

He turned to run back to his office but they had silently cut him off. They continued to surround him.

And then they ripped him to pieces.


	22. Choking on a Toothpick

_A/N: Idea from losingmymind2_

Idea Twenty One: Choking on a Toothpick

Leon Vance continued to chew on his toothpick as he pondered a difficult question.

Who to have on his protection detail at the inter-agency ball in three days time.

On the one hand, he wanted a team who would protect him. People who would watch over him and make sure nothing happened. People he trusted so he was able to focus on forging links between the other agencies and not worry about his back.

Especially when politicians were so eager to stick a knife in it.

It had not taken him long to realize what a good job Jenny had done in strengthening bonds between agencies. In theory, taking over the reins should have been easy – she had done all the hard work and he only needed to maintain it.

But it was clear that no one liked him. They all wanted to be talking to a beautiful single redhead, not a married man. And they definitely looked down on him. He had to struggle just to get his foot in the door.

Having someone to watch his back was going to be a necessity, he decided. Although he doubted the politicians would deign to get their hands dirty.

On the other hand, he wasn't expecting anything to go wrong, thus meaning he didn't need a team to protect him. He had been keeping his eye on the intelligence and no one seemed interested in attacking the event. It would be a quiet night for his security, a quiet and boring night. Which meant he didn't need a team he trusted so much.

Continuing to chew on his toothpick, he decided to include Agent Gibbs in his protective team. Gibbs fitted both categories – he could be trusted to do his job well and yet he would be sufficiently bored by the entire evening. And it would be rubbing salt on a wound; last time Gibbs had been to an event like this, he had had the opportunity to watch Jenny.

He nodded to himself as he put Agent Gibbs' name down on the list. One down, two to go.

Who else? If he was thinking of this as a punishment, Agent DiNozzo should probably go down. He would find it worse than Gibbs, knowing how quickly the man became bored. Yet if he invited Tony, he would have to pick the third member of his detail from Gibbs' team. McGee might be good at his job, but he was better undercover. And while having a Mossad assassin watching his back felt disturbingly reassuring, he had a feeling that Ziva would be fending off advances from other agents all evening.

He rolled his eyes. This was a lot more complicated than he thought it would have been. Perhaps it would be better to ask Gibbs for his opinion. He would probably end up with Tony and Ziva that way, but Gibbs knew how to put together a detail.

His phone rang unexpectedly, causing him to jump. The toothpick disappeared into the back of his mouth and he began to choke.

Breathing was impossible. He couldn't dislodge it. He tried to cough but only a gasp of air came out. He fell to the floor, panic taking over him.

It was another five minutes before Cynthia stuck her head around the door and found his lifeless body.


	23. Death by Chocolate

Idea Twenty Two: Death by Chocolate

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was bored. Very bored.

Although Tony was towards the back of their small group, he could sense the younger man's excitement. He wasn't particularly surprised. His permanently hungry Senior Field Agent was in a chocolate factory.

The smell was everywhere. He knew he would be taking a long shower when he got home in an attempt to get the scent out of his skin. His clothes were going to take longer to get back to normal. Right now, he never wanted to eat chocolate again.

Not that he ate much of it anyway.

Perhaps it would put Tony off chocolate as well, at least for a little while. Ducky was always complaining about DiNozzo's diet and did his best to remove pizza from the squad room whenever he saw it. Privately, Gibbs could see his agent having a heart attack before long, but knew better than to interfere with anyone's food. He ate like a pig as well, surviving on takeout, and he wasn't about to turn into a hypocrite.

The smell of chocolate continued to assault him as he followed Director Vance down a short flight of stairs. Why they were in a chocolate factory was beyond him. He knew Vance had received an invitation, but there was no need for the Director of an armed federal agency to come.

He sighed as the manager of the factory continued to drone on about anything and everything. Gibbs didn't care. He didn't think they were going to have a security problem – no one would expect Vance to come here. The employees had all been vetted, not to mention an advance group of agents had swept the place an hour before Vance had arrived and found nothing.

He didn't want to be here. He was sure Ziva and McGee could cope on their own, but he would have preferred to be there. Losing Tony for a day when they only had paperwork would not have bothered him. Surely there was another team leader somewhere who would be better suited to watching Vance's back for a day?

Shaking his head softly in an attempt to keep himself awake, he followed Vance into yet another part of the factory. How big could this place be? They'd seen just about everything if his memory was working. Perhaps the chocolate was messing with his mind.

They were now in a place with a lot of what looked like vats. The vats were below them slightly as they were standing on a catwalk. The rails protecting them from falling off weren't particularly high, but Gibbs didn't care. It was nice to see a place that didn't worry obsessively about health and safety. People had to stop acting like idiots and use their common sense.

He watched Vance out of the corner of his eye as his boss peered over the rail to look into a nearby vat. Hopefully this would be their last stop and they could go home after this.

And then Vance went over the railing and into the chocolate vat.

Gibbs hid a smirk. Idiot. The manager was panicking and calling for people to shut down the machines.

Tony materialized next to him. "Who's our new Director then?" he asked casually.


	24. Stroke

_A/N: Idea from 4sweetdreams. And I quote 'not very exciting, but efficient'. I have a friend who is at risk for strokes who taught me the mnemonic and swears on the toast thing._

Idea Twenty Three: Stroke

Team Gibbs stood in Vance's office, all annoyed. They might have been indulging in Gibbs' absence – having already concluded that Vance was an idiot for sending the boss to a conference on communication; it wasn't going to make a scrap of difference – but they hadn't done anything wrong.

With the possible exception of telling everyone that Agent Jardine was off with swine flu and then watching the reactions of their panicked fellow agents.

Vance was definitely in a bad mood. That might have had something to do with reports of Gibbs punching someone at the conference. The agents found that highly amusing.

Tony DiNozzo decided to take control. Someone needed to or they were going to be standing here in silence all night.

"Something we could help you with Director?" he asked.

They stared at him for a moment.

"I think something's wrong," McGee decided. "He doesn't look right."

"He's clutching the side of his desk," Ziva noted objectively. "And he seems to be trying to communicate with us."

"Wait!" Tony interrupted. "I know this one. It's a mnemonic."

"A what?" He wasn't surprised that Ziva was confused.

"FAST," McGee recalled. "It's for strokes. So F stands for Face, right?"

"One side of his face is drooping," Ziva declared. "What's next?"

"A is for Arms." Tony jumped in before McGee could say anything.

"What about the arms? Do they drop off?" Ziva definitely didn't have a clue.

"Difficult to raise or something," McGee suggested. "Try lifting them up," he ordered Vance.

They judged his response. "I'm agreeing with Arms," Tony concluded. "S is for –"

"Speech," McGee finished. "Director? Can you try to say something?"

As they couldn't work out what he was saying, they decided his speech was slurred.

"What is left?" Ziva questioned.

"T is for Time," Tony answered.

"I thought the T stood for Toast?" Ziva was confused.

"No, it's definitely Time," Tony snapped.

"But smelling burnt toast is a symptom of a stroke," Ziva argued. "I have a friend who is at risk of strokes and she told me about it."

"In that case," Tony replied, a slow grin appearing on his face. "The Probie must have a stroke every morning."

"I don't have toast for breakfast," McGee protested.

"No, you have _dinosaur _cereal, McChild," Tony teased.

McGee sighed. "I've told you before Tony, the dinosaur cereal is for my sister."

"Your mouth lies, your breath first thing in the morning tells the truth," Tony argued.

"You cannot know what I eat for breakfast as I always brush my teeth before I come in," McGee pointed out. "Would _you_ come in without brushing your teeth?"

Tony shuddered. "If Gibbs wasn't boss, I probably would."

Ziva glared at him. "Disgusting," she declared. "We should focus on Vance."

"F-A-S-T," McGee spelt. "We've determined that he's having a stroke. What's next?"

"The mnemonic is to remind people to call for an ambulance," Tony remembered. "And we can surprise them with our skill because we've already diagnosed him."

"I'll call," Ziva spoke up. "You two can continue your bickering."

"Hoping to get a hot doctor?" Tony joked.

He wasn't happy when she smiled at him. "I thought every woman preferred a man in uniform," she drawled.

He glared at her as she stepped outside the room to place her call. "So what do we do in the meantime?" he demanded from McGee.

"I don't know," the Probie shrugged. "The mnemonic doesn't say what to do next apart from to call 911."

"I guess we're not getting yelled at tonight," Tony grinned. "And Gibbs is going to love this."

"Why?"

"Because it'll get him out of the rest of the conference."


	25. Exsanguination

_A/N: Idea from losingmymind2_

_A/N2: I know this is horrifically late, but I've been ill and forgetting to post..._

Idea Twenty Four: Exsanguination

Leon Vance observed the squad room from the catwalk. He didn't have much else to do at this exact moment in time and he wanted to see what his agents were doing.

He stuck a toothpick in his mouth as his attention turned to Gibbs' team. The great man himself was absent, which meant Tony and Ziva were not working. McGee however was hard at work, tapping away at his computer. That wasn't a surprise.

Tony and Ziva were gathered around his desk. It looked as though Tony had said something stupid, leading Ziva to sneak up behind him and push him into his desk. Although Vance couldn't see Tony's face, he knew the agent was wincing in pain and struggling to breathe.

It was amusing in a way. Tony never seemed to learn that annoying an assassin was a spectacularly bad idea. He was lucky to be alive after aggravating her constantly over the last four years. Vance still expected to come in one day to find Tony's lifeless body splayed across his desk, torture marks everywhere and a paperclip next to him.

He had even talked to Director David about what to do when Ziva finally killed her partner. Eli promised he had warned Ziva against killing her co-workers but he could not be held responsible for her actions. And he suggested that Ziva would cover her back if she did murder anyone. He was not worried.

His attention was brought back to the present by the arrival of Gibbs. Coffee in one hand, he headslapped Ziva first and then Tony, glaring at his errant agents. They got back to work without needing to be told.

It made Vance smile that Gibbs could control his agents without saying a word. It didn't even matter if the agent had never met Gibbs before; probies cowered before him and even senior agents tried not to cross him.

Somehow the team settled back into their normal working pattern. McGee continued to type, having missed the little drama earlier. Tony and Ziva began their work again, shooting glares across the squad room. Gibbs sipped his coffee, checked his team were working to his satisfaction and began reading a case report.

Without his reading glasses.

Vance smirked as Gibbs continued to pretend he could read the file in front of him. Holding it further and further away, much to Tony's amusement. Eventually he gave in and reached for his reading glasses.

The Director sighed, knowing he needed to go back to his work but strangely reluctant to leave. Watching other agents hard at work reminded him how far he had come. Back to the paperwork now.

He gave Cynthia a brief smile as he walked back into his office, asking not to be disturbed for a while. The omnipresent paperwork sat on his desk. He sat down, found a pen and set to work.

A copper taste in his mouth drew his attention, not to mention to sudden pain. He reached for his toothpick but only managed to remove half of it from his mouth.

Feeling around, a difficult task with the sheer amount of blood pouring out of his mouth now, he realized the other half of the toothpick had punctured his tongue. Not just punctured – gone through and come out the other side.

The blood was now everywhere. He briefly wondered if he'd hit an artery or a serious vein before he passed out on his desk, never to regain consciousness.


	26. Abby

_A/N1: Idea from 4sweetdreams_

_A/N2: Warning, I am a forensic scientist (okay, I'm a student but still). There are definitely things that can kill you before you get the chance to leave the lab. Especially when running DNA. We had a lovely practical where we were warned against touching something or we would be dead in moments._

Idea Twenty Five: Abby

Leon Vance wandered in Abby's lab in search of his rogue forensic scientist. The only reason he hadn't fired her was because he knew Gibbs would walk out immediately and half the agency would go with him. Abby was everyone's favorite.

Although she wasn't Vance's. She didn't stick to the dress code – admittedly she wore a suit to court – and her music was loud enough to damage someone's hearing. If it could be called music at all.

But she was a fantastic forensic scientist, proving herself every day. Vance was permanently fending off the FBI who wanted to steal her, no doubt on Fornell's recommendation. And a lot of private companies also swarmed around.

To her credit, Abby was happy to stay where she was, not demanding a pay rise or letting her skill go to her head. She might threaten to kill people and not leave any forensic evidence, but he doubted she would ever do it.

He did worry about Ziva and Abby teaming up and taking out some of his agents, but he was confident Abby would be able to withstand pressure from the Israeli.

Now if Gibbs brought a dead body to her and needed help covering something up…

He banished the dark thoughts from his head. He was here to see Abby.

But she wasn't in her lab. He tried to work out where she could be. She wasn't in the squad room with either Gibbs or McGee – Vance had just come from there himself and there was no way she could have passed him.

The other options were Autopsy or the evidence garage. She would be back soon enough anyway. There was enough evidence left in her lab to keep her busy for a long while to come.

He sat down on one of the only chairs he could see, drumming his fingers on her desk. Evidence was everywhere. Chemicals were also scattered around, obscure symbols on their labels. Vance had no idea what even half of them stood for. All he needed to remember was what Abby constantly told everyone – touch nothing.

He didn't see what simply touching a bottle could do. Or a vial. Or a test tube. There were all sealed and nothing in here could grew teeth and bite him.

He hoped.

One bottle in particular drew his attention. He reached out and picked it up carefully. The label was faded and there was a spot where some liquid had been split on it. He ran his fingers over it lightly.

Abby made it back to her lab a mere thirty minutes after leaving. The evidence garage was very quiet for once and it had not taken her long to search for new evidence in the car Gibbs had left her.

Now she had new samples to run. It was exciting.

She stepped over Vance as she made her way to Major Mass Spec. Judging from the condition of his body, she deduced something had boiled him from the inside out. She had a good idea what it was – one of her bottles had been moved.

"Silly Vance," she informed Bert before getting back to work.


End file.
